


Cruel Transitions

by Sarah_Ellie



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Complete, Domestic Violence, M/M, Protective!Bond, Q rides a motorcycle, non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-04-28
Packaged: 2017-12-07 17:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 11
Words: 17,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarah_Ellie/pseuds/Sarah_Ellie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere along the line, Q's relationship went from wonderful to a living nightmare, and his new position as the head of Q Branch has not made things easier. </p><p>Luckily, Bond is there when things shift from bad to worse. </p><p>(Please note: this fic contains non-con, domestic violence, and verbal abuse that some may find triggering. Please read with caution).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to the wonderful Dalekfighter1190 for being the world's most dedicated and awesome Beta! <3

With a flick of the wrist Q cut the headlights on his motorbike and paused for a moment, listening to the purr of the engine settling between his thighs. For the brief, uninterrupted minutes that he sat astride his motorbike, things almost seemed like they would be okay. He felt far removed from all of the complicated things in the world. It was almost easy to imagine getting away. Inevitably, though, he would have to shut down the beautiful machine and dismount to either go inside the flat that Q shared with his live-in boyfriend Jeremy, or duck into MI6 headquarters. Those were the sole locations that ran his life.

Both could be equally unappealing, Q thought as he pulled off his matte black helmet and cradled it under his right arm. He made sure that it settled high above his hip, and combed his fingers through his hair, sliding the strays carefully back into place.

“Power down.” Q said in an authoritative tone while simultaneously pressing an innocuous button camouflaged on the front panel of the bike. The button allowed his vocal command to to be registered with the bike’s internal computer. The purring stopped, and only the idle clicking of the cooling engine could be heard echoing off of the concrete walls of the interior parking structure. There weren’t any other cars parked in the section of the lot that Q was in; the only other vehicles that he could see belonged to the small fleet of company cars that were kept on hand for emergencies. 

At that particular moment, Q was parked in the garage underneath the MI6 building. He stood in the extra room along side of the bike in his parking space (specified by number instead of one of those gaudy “reserved for so-and-so” tags) and pulled off his boots quickly. The leather jacket took a little bit longer; Q had to gingerly extricate his bruised arms from the sleeves without jarring his right shoulder, which ached something awful. When he succeeded, Q fiddled with a tiny latch on the left-hand side of the bike, and opened a keypad revealing four tiny buttons. Each was painted with a mathematical symbol. Q pressed the buttons in a specific series, and waited a few milliseconds for the seat of the bike to pop open slightly, waiting for him to pull it open the rest of the way.

Inside was a decent-sized compartment where his laptop was nestled in a protected messenger bag. Beside the bag was a pair of ordinary dress shoes. Q pulled these out, and replaced them with the boots and his jacket, which just barely fit through some creative maneuvering.

With automated movements, Q swung the messenger bag over his shoulder and slid his feet into his shoes. He carried the helmet with him as he headed towards the first in a series of security checkpoints that would lead him into Q Branch. As he walked, his laptop bounced against his hip, sending a shooting pain across Q’s legs, which he worked hard to ignore as he passed under the CCTV cameras that his department helped to monitor.

The security checkpoints were automated, so there was no one that Q needed to stop and talk to as he made his way through the bright halls. Q Branch was at the end of a particularly long hallway, through a door with a four digit pin-code and a card swipe. He passed through a bank of computers that were generally utilized by interns and low-tier staff and approached a doorway on the far side of the room. The rest of Q branch was set through glass doors that showed their steel reinforcements and locking mechanisms. Q personally found the blatant show of their security to be a bit cocky, but he was particularly sensitive to those sorts of security concerns ever since Silva had escaped the underground bunker a month beforehand.

He typed in the key code that initiated the retina scan and voice recognition and waited for the doors to disengage. The security system was coded so that only MI6 employees with double-oh status or higher could enter the room. 

That part of Q Branch, as with the rest of MI6, was still empty that early in the morning, so Q set about checking the night crew’s skeletal logs before initiating his own personal computer system. For the first time in a long time, none of the senior staff had needed to stay in Headquarters overnight to oversee an agent who was out on assignment. This in particular was a relief to Q, who was thankful that none of his underlings had to listen to him deal with Jeremy’s increasingly furious phone calls during a particularly desperate situation in Nairobi, Kenya when Agent 007 had disappeared from the grid for a full two hours. Only a handful of staff, who were relegated to the outer room while Q worked to bring 007 back online, had been in the office at the time.

“I’m sorry, a bit of programming went awry and I’ve been asked to stay and fix it. There are only a few of us here, yeah.” Q had spoken with his mobile cradled between his shoulder and ear while his fingers typed furiously to try and bring up CCTV footage that would reveal where Bond had gone. “I’ll be home as soon as I can, promise.”

But when Q had finally gotten back to the flat over an hour later, Agent 007 successfully located and re-integrated into the Q Branch interface, Jeremy was pacing the kitchen. His jaw was taut and as soon as Q, whom Jeremy knew as Thomas, walked into the flat he began to scream ruthlessly.

“I’m up all hours of the night, waiting for you, so you can flirt with those brilliant coworkers of yours!” Jeremy’s face was inches from Q’s. Q glanced at the floor, but didn’t reply. He knew it was useless, once Jeremy was that angry, to say anything.

“That’s exactly what you were doing, weren’t you? You were trying to get with one of those other blokes from the office. What a bloody joke- you think anyone is going to fall in love with you? You scrawny fucking shit? Fuck, no one is ever going to see what I see.”

Jeremy was drunk, and rambling. Q could smell the liquor on his breath, and as a result allowed Jeremy to manhandle him through the kitchen and into the bedroom. He winced as a hand clutched at his shoulder, yanking him through the rooms.

The trouble was that Jeremy was quite a bit stronger than Q physically. Muscular and just a hair taller, Jeremy was able to force Q out of his work shirt within seconds and push him facedown onto the bed with bruising force at his upper arms and hips. Q tried to scramble further up the mattress to gain some sort of control over the situation. But as hard as he tried, he couldn’t get away from Jeremy, who held him in place by digging his nails into the bones of his left hip and pushing him harder onto the bed with his other hand.

“Jeremy, please. You’re hurting me.” Q gasped fruitlessly. His words only resulted in a punishingly tight squeeze to his shoulder.

“Don’t you fucking tell me what to do.” Jeremy hissed as he struggled to reach under Q’s body and undo Q’s belt and the fastenings on his trousers. When he finally got them open, he tugged Q’s pants and trousers down to the floor with one jerk and lined himself up behind Q, his cock pressed hard against Q’s arse.

“Jeremy what the fuck are you-“ Q was cut off as Jeremy’s cock pressed inside of him without any preparation. The pain shot a burning, white light across Q’s vision, and he panted and cried out in pain as Jeremy forced himself into Q over and over again. Q tried to relax himself, to make Jeremy’s invasion more welcome, but his body was rigid and tight and everything hurt. All Q wanted was for it to be over. He began to move himself, despite the pain, in a way that he knew would bring Jeremy off quickly.

With a final grunt, Jeremy came and pulled out of Q. He pulled up his own pants, which had fallen around his knees, and ran his hands roughly through Q’s hair before he crawled past him on the bed and settled between the sheets, his back to Q. His snores filled the room mere seconds later, while Q was still trying to regulate his breathing.

When he was able to get his legs to stop shaking long enough to stand upright, Q retreated to the bathroom. He located the worst of the bruising and was relieved to see that the wounds would all be easily hidden. Then he did a perfunctory check of his body before heading back into the bedroom, trying to convince himself that the traces of blood that had ended up on his hands in the process of cleaning himself up was nothing to worry about.

Of course, the next morning while Q was getting ready for work, Jeremy had all but draped himself over Q, pressing kisses into his neck and running his hands gently over Q’s arms. When Q winced at the contact with his bruises, Jeremy apologized with watery eyes and promised that he’d never hurt Q ever again.

Q smiled and told Jeremy that he knew, that he loved him, knowing full well that Jeremy was lying.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond returns from Kenya to find his Quartermaster acting oddly...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the wonderful Dalekfighter1190.

On Thursday, Bond lost contact with MI6. His earpiece, which was connected to the communications system in Q Branch, had failed and he had been forced to tear through the dusty downtown Nairobi without guidance for two full hours before he finally heard the somewhat comforting voice of Q crackle to life in his ear.

“Agent Double oh Seven, do you read?” Q asked, his voice mingled with static.

“Occasionally on weekends, I suppose.” Bond replied, pausing in an alleyway to check the magazine of his Walther PPK. He was bleeding from the chest, but not seriously. One of his knees was bothering him as well, thanks to a rather close encounter with a vehicle he had had during a chase, but the adrenaline was helping Bond to ignore it for the moment. Instead of taking in the damage to his body, Bond checked to make sure that his gun was still functioning.

“Very funny.” Q said sarcastically, although Bond was certain that he had heard a faint chuckle. “I take it that I’m coming in okay?”

“Much better than you were a few minutes ago, so that’s a positive development.” Bond replied. He slid the mag back into place and adjusted his tie. “Now then, where shall I go?”

“Give us a minute, I’m calibrating a better route.” Q said. His voice was accompanied by the telltale sound of intense typing.

“I have the intel, but I need an extraction team. My passport will have been flagged by now.” Bond said.

“I am aware of your situation, Double-oh Seven. However your current location rather complicates things. You’ve ended up too close to the train route that goes through Kibera. We don’t have enough intel to make sure that an extraction team is safe to get in and out of the city.”

“I don’t care where I need to get to, just give me a destination.” Bond said irritably.

They spoke for five more minutes until Q was able to arrange a helicopter to fly into the city and pick Bond up from a French embassy. Bond left immediately after hanging up with his Quartermaster, and was relieved when he was tucked into a military chopper and airlifted to a private runway where a royal air force military plane was waiting for him.

The flight was long and choppy, and Bond wasn’t able to get much sleep. Instead, he made a lackluster attempt to clean up his suit and he allowed a medical officer to stitch the cut on his chest. He didn’t allow himself to be separated from his suit jacket, which had a microchip in the left pocket with a carefully tabulated list of Kenyan intelligence weaknesses and a program that threatened to wipe out the stability of the African Union.

It was Friday morning when he finally made it back to London. He was dog-tired, and just wanted to sleep, but he needed to drop off a computer chip to Q Branch and write up the after-action report for the assignment. Some of the missions that Bond was sent on could be detailed in a bit more leisurely time frame. This was not one of them.

This was how Bond ended up in MI6 before the staff parking was even remotely full. There were a few cars dotting the garage, along with a particularly beautiful motorcycle that Bond would have loved to get a closer look at. Instead of stalling he rushed into MI6, eager to drop everything off, write up the report, and get the hell home before M sent him to some other god forsaken country.

His first stop was Q Branch, which was still shockingly empty. Only the lights in the distant part of the branch, where Q and his senior staff worked, were on.

“Slow night?” Bond asked as he entered. It was rare that Q branch didn’t have at least one other body in it, besides Q’s. 

“Agent 007. How was your flight?” Q asked when he looked up and saw Bond enter the room. The Quartermaster looked utterly exhausted, despite his carefully compiled wardrobe that was prim and proper, but stopped just short of showy. 

“Some turbulence over Spain, but nothing terrible.” Bond said, reaching into the pocket of his suit jacket. He pulled out a small computer piece encased in thick plastic. Q looked at the tiny bit of tech hungrily, but did not reach for it immediately. 

“Lovely.” Q said politely. He walked around the edge of his desk and took the proffered chip. Bond settled into one of the little-used chairs in the office and watched as Q plugged the piece into a waiting computer tower whose chassis had been discarded. Bond noticed that when Q leaned against the counter that the computer was placed on he winced, and busied himself while keeping a short distance between himself and the edge of the counter.

“You’re rather fidgety this morning.” Bond noted as Q worked. The boffin shrugged with one shoulder and pretended to be deeply involved with the computer parts in front of him. 

“What are you getting at, Double-oh Seven?” Q said without taking his eyes away from the bits of tech in front of him. It struck Bond as odd that Q was being as formal as he was; while they certainly weren’t the best of friends, they had been on far more familiar terms since Q had risked his job to help get Silva to Skyfall.

“Just commenting” Bond said, standing. He decided that the Kenya mission had worn him down more than he had originally thought, and that perhaps Q was just truly as exhausted as he looked and not in the mood to speak. “I’m going to grab a coffee. Let me know when you get into the chip.”

“I assure you, you’re my top priority” Q said sardonically as Bond made to leave the room. His voice was tinged with the joking repartee that was more familiar for them. Bond paused, but was kept from saying anything as a phone began to ring somewhere from the vicinity of Q’s desk. The agent watched with curiosity as Q’s face paled and he turned away from the counter to fish around the desk. 

While Q Branch was set beneath the ground floor of the MI6 building, the offices of the intelligence agents were set near the top floor. Bond wandered back through Q Branch and up to the main lobby of MI6. His shoes clicked against the marble floors as Bond stopped in front of the sleek elevator bank.

“Morning, Double-oh Seven.” Eve Moneypenny walked across the lobby and stopped next to Bond, giving the agent a nod when the elevator doors opened and he gestured for her to enter first.

“Morning, Moneypenny.” Bond said, pressing the button for Eve’s floor as well as his own. “How are the new digs?”

“Not so new anymore, Bond.” Eve grinned as the elevator began to move. “But it’s going well enough. Just back from Kenya?”

“Got in this morning.” Bond confirmed.

“Shall I set up a debrief with M?” Moneypenny asked.

“I’ve just dropped off an intel source to Q Branch, it might be best to wait.” Bond advised as the elevator came to a halt. There was a small _ding_ and the doors slid open.

“As you wish.” Moneypenny smiled, exiting the elevator. “We’ll give Q a few hours to work out the intel, and I’ll set up a meeting with M for tomorrow afternoon.”

“Your generosity is always appreciated.” Bond winked facetiously, just as the doors drew to a close.

Bond’s own office was small but bright. It was stocked with the basic necessities that he needed to file the occasional report and to have a place where he could hide from interns and former one-night-stands. The room was rarely used, if Bond was being honest with himself, but a part of him had grown to like the room since the fiasco with Silva. It was the only part of his life that hadn’t been stored and sold; it was precisely the way that he had left it before his “death.” The Old M had stated that they simply hadn’t gotten around to replacing 007 yet, but he had gotten the feeling at the time that there was something slightly more sentimental about it.

Either way, it meant that Bond could brew himself a cup of coffee from his Keurig machine at the small mini-bar that sat in the corner before he settled into his mahogany desk. A sleek laptop sat on the top, waiting for Bond to log into the secure MI6 server and download the appropriate paperwork for his mission.

It was an hour and a half before Bond resurfaced from the document. He had been detailing a particularly complicated intelligence retrieval that had occurred just outside of Lake Turkana, Kenya. An interruption in the form of a knock at his office door had drawn his attention.

“Come in.” Bond said, his fingers trailing delicately on the gun holstered under his shoulder. He pulled his hand away as he recognized Q’s slender frame entering the room. Q walked with his back straight, eyes sharp, and the slightest of limps.

“Double-oh Seven.” Q nodded, standing on the opposite end of Bond’s desk. “I’ve gained access to the information that you’ve brought back. M has been briefed on the information and-“ Q was cut off by the sound of a familiar ringing. “Excuse me.”

Bond watched as Q ducked into the hallway. He stood, carrying his mug over to the small arrangement of bottles that he had on the counter, and listened through the crack in the door.

“I can’t talk right now, I’m at work.” Q hissed into the phone. “I answered because this is the fifth time you’ve called, is there an emergency? No, I’m not. Jeremy, I promise- no. Alright, alright. I’m sorry. I love you too. See you tonight.” Q took a deep breath, and re-entered the office just as Bond returned to his seat. As he watched Q enter for a second time, he was fairly certain that he saw a limp in Q’s left side.

“Did you manage to have a fall between Q Branch and my office?” Bond asked as Q approached his desk again. A faint blush colored the high contrasts of Q’s cheekbones.

“Uh, Q Branch injury, unfortunately. Testing gone wrong.” Q said, stumbling over his words.

“What are Earth are you testing?” Bond asked, glancing down at his laptop. His half-finished report glared on the screen.

“Exploding pens.” Q said with a nervous smirk. He gazed evenly at Bond’s appraising look before he excused himself from the room. It wasn’t until he was gone that Bond remembered that Q hadn’t finished reporting on the computer intel that he had found.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Dalekfighter1190- without whom my fics would surely suffer a nonsensical death.

Back in his office, Q ran his fingers through his hair. He didn’t care very much if it was untidy at that point, he just needed something to pull; an anchor, as he stared down his cell phone. He had gotten five phone calls from Jeremy in the last hour and a half.

When Q first started at MI6 a year and a half beforehand, he and Jeremy had just gotten together. The first six months had been easy, the literal “romance period.” Shortly after that, however, Q had started to climb the employment ladder at MI6. Every time Q came home with a promotion or a success story from work, Jeremy had lashed out within days. In the beginning, Q thought that Jeremy was just having episodes of jealousy- that they would be the occasional dark smudge on an otherwise happy relationship.

The last six months, however, had seen far more bad days than good ones. While Q hadn’t told Jeremy about his newest job title as the head of Q Branch, the fact of the matter was that Q’s hours were longer and his job was more stressful, and Jeremy had taken the sudden lack of attention poorly. Q had begun to dread returning home at the end of the night. The bruises were getting harder to hide, and although Q refused to attach the “R” word to what had happened the night before, he knew that they were entering dangerous territory in their relationship.

The thing was that Q loved Jeremy. Really, he did. Jeremy hadn’t minded that Q was only a lowly computer technician when they’d first met. He’d listened to Q’s stories and put up with his less than stellar family history. They’d both loved contemporary art and jazz music and chain smoking cigarettes late at night. Q loved Jeremy’s sisters, who were quiet and shy but otherwise wonderfully kind. If Jeremy occasionally got a bit more handsy than Q liked, so what? Most of the time, Q thought that Jeremy’s frustrations were completely warranted anyway.

“Q? Visitor from the Double-oh Agents Division.” A cool voice spoke through an intercom by the door. Now that MI6 was populated by the rest of the staff, Q had a secretary to screen his visitors for him.

“Send them in.” Q responded.

He was surprised to see Bond enter the room.

“A second visit in one day? This is quite a surprise.” Q said, looking up at the agent. Double-oh Seven had changed from the damaged grey suit that he had been wearing in Kenya to his more traditional black jacket and trousers. There was no tie around his neck, however. Instead Bond wore the collar open, and Q found himself momentarily distracted by the sight of Bond’s exposed throat. There was a thin cut just near Bond’s adam’s apple.

“You never finished telling me what you found on the intel that I brought back.” Bond said.

Q swore and stood, crossing the room to start up the computer where he had installed the chip. He summoned Bond over to see what he pulled up, and together they began to go through the information encrypted on the screen in front of them.

Forty-five minutes passed before Q’s phone began to ring again. Q’s body went rigid, and Bond glanced over at him.

“No worries,” Bond said. He clasped Q on the shoulder in an initial effort to ease Q’s tension, and was surprised when the Quartermaster exhaled in a sharp hiss and screwed his face into a pained grimace.

“What’s happened?” Bond asked, spinning Q around by the arms. As he did, Q winced again, and tried to wrench himself out of Bond’s grasp so that he could make his way over to his phone. The ringing stopped before he could get to it, and dread filled Q’s stomach at the presumptions that Jeremy was now bound to make.

“Q, you need to go to medical.” Bond said. Q kept his back turned to him, not wanting the agent to see how he clutched at his desk for support. Bond’s touch had uprooted the careful composure that Q was trying to maintain.

“I can’t.” Q said, turning away from the desk but still avoiding Bond’s eyes. “Lots to do.”

“Whatever experiment that went wrong, you can’t leave those injuries unattended.” Bond said. Q recognized the domineering cues that Bond let off when he was dealing with general agents and interns.  
“I can’t go to medical.” Q repeated, brushing past the agent so that he could stand at the computer once again.

“Q, please.” Bond appeared to be changing tactics. He leaned close. “You did me a huge favor a few months back, and you’ve saved my life on a weekly basis since then. Let me do you a favor in return- go to medical.”

Just then, the phone began to ring. Something inside Q broke, and he drew in a sharp breath.

“I can’t go to medical because they can’t do anything for me, Bond.” Q said. He steeled himself, and then slowly raised his hands to finger at the buttons on his cardigan. Bond’s eyes widened as Q pulled the cardigan away and then began to unbutton his white linen undershirt.

There was a sharp intake a breath as Bond saw the bruises, and Q flinched in embarrassment. He knew what Bond would see- clearly marked handprints at his biceps, grasping him from behind, and a cruelly dark hand-shaped bruise that curled over his shoulder, a clear indicator of a punishingly tight grip.

“Who the fuck did that?” Bond asked, his tone clearly horrified.

“It doesn’t matter. I told you that Medical can’t help me.” Q snapped. 

Bond took a step forward and ghosted his fingers over the hard lines of Q’s bruises. The skin on the back of Q’s neck began to warm, and he felt a telltale blush bloom over the skin of his shoulders and chest. There was a reverence in Bond’s gaze, assumedly caused by Bond’s concern, that Q hadn’t seen directed at his body in a very, very long time. Quickly, Q cast his eyes away from Bond’s concentrated stare.He cleared his throat, and rolled his shoulders painfully.

“If you’ll excuse me, Bond, I have a meeting soon.” Q lied. He pulled his shirt back on and ran his fingers up the buttons quickly. He stumbled over the last two, which he had fastened incorrectly, and then concentrated on straightening his tie. He carefully brought the cardigan back up over his shoulders and straightened all of the fabrics to drape properly over his body.

Bond nodded at the dismissal and left. Q sighed, and limped back to his chair. As the day wore on, his body had begun to protest even the smallest movements. That was to say nothing about the far more delicate parts of his body, which had almost certainly taken a small amount of damage thanks to Jeremy’s assertions the night before.

“You’re fine.” Q mumbled to himself, setting his head in his hands. His elbows leaned heavily on the desk, allowing it to support him for a few moments. “It’s all going to be okay.”

He just wished that he actually believed it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments always appreciated!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Dalekfighter1190, who should be showered with eternal praise and glory.

Bond left Q Branch but did not head to his office. Instead, he went up to the newly renovated part of the building where Gareth Mallory’s new office as M was located, and peeked into the antechamber. When he saw Eve, typing on her laptop but not looking particularly panicked, he wandered into the room.

“Moneypenny, I need something from you.” Bond said by way of introduction. Eve looked up at him, thoroughly unimpressed, and then returned to her computer. Bond began to wonder what he had to do to hold anyone’s attention anymore.

“What do you need, Bond?” Moneypenny asked. Her tone was not unkind, just slightly preoccupied.

“Do you know anything about Q?” Bond asked, perching on the end of Moneypenny’s desk. She cast him an annoyed look.

“Well, he’s the head of Q Branch, graduated at the top of his class, was hired just after the security breach at MI6 from a pool of computer technicians in the division-“

“I mean his personal life. What do we know about his personal life?” Bond pressed further.

“Well nothing, I should think.” Eve shrugged. “He keeps his home life pretty close to the chest, much like the rest of us. I think he may have a boyfriend, but I’m not even positive on that.”

“What about in his file? Surely a serious relationship would be marked down in the file.” Bond was speaking mostly aloud to himself at that point. Moneypenny raised her eyebrows.

“Why are you suddenly so interested in Q?” She asked. “Do you have a crush?” she taunted.

“Once again, your assistance is invaluable, Moneypenny.” Bond said, standing upright. Eve smirked, and Bond felt her eyes on his back as he left her office.

Luckily for Bond, the lowest level Q Branch interns were not wholly impervious to his flirtations. By day’s end, Bond had a recent copy of Q’s basic information file in his hands. He gave the pages a perfunctory once over, and determined that there was no significant other listed in the profile- the only name listed was Q’s own; Thomas Mayhew. There was, however, a home address listed next to a phone number that Bond knew to be current.

Q was still in Q Branch when Bond left, evidenced by the light that was glowing from his office. Bond took advantage of this and left shortly after submitting a draft of his after-action report. 

Moneypenny had attempted to waylay him before he left, trying to get Bond to admit to a crush on Q that he swore that he didn’t have. In the end, Bond had to duck out of MI6 with a group of Research & Development interns who seemed like an encouraging mix of terrified and in awe of his presence among them. Bond then got into his car and reversed out of his spot, preparing to wind through the London streets until he found the building that he was looking for.

It was only a fifteen minute drive from headquarters; six stories tall with a brick façade and black shutters on the windows. Bond slowed to check that the building number matched what he was looking for, and then parked a block away.

Precisely why he had suddenly taken such an interest in Q’s personal life was something that Bond did not want to reflect on. Instead, he kept his mind focused sharply on the memory of those bruises- dark, clearly inflicted by someone over powering the Quartermaster. Even the memory sparked a surge of rage in Bond. He had seen people injured before, and he had experienced quite a few of his own bruises; more than his fair share. But his were inflicted accidentally, or purposefully by enemies. The fingerprints that dug into Q’s hips were not accidental, and Q should not have had enemies. At least, not ones that would have access to those parts of his body. 

The remaining possibilities were why he was parking his car out front of a Healing Crystals bookshop and stepping out into the evening. The night was growing darker and rain was beginning to spritz down on Bond as he stepped out of his car and turned to head towards Q’s flat. He turned up his collar against the moisture and walked up to the building that he had identified earlier. There were six mailboxes with apartment numbers instead of names and a small panel with a series of buzzers set into the façade of the building. None of them listed Q’s full name, so Bond settled for ringing the first apartment that was listed.

“Hello?” A voice answered, which sounded elderly and feminine.

“Good evening, M’am. I’ve got a delivery here for Thomas Mayhew, but no apartment number.” 

Bond said, speaking loudly into the intercom.A cursory glance around the doorway told him that there was no camera system to confirm his identity. It was appalling that Q lived in a flat that was so utterly bereft of security. 

“He’s in apartment E, dear. This one is A. I’ll ring you in and you can go right on up.” The woman said kindly. Bond cringed inwardly but opened the door when it buzzed all the same.

“Thank you.” He said into the intercom before he walked into the drafty building and began to climb the rickety stairs.

The door to Q’s flat was dark green and otherwise nondescript. He found it easy to break into. Bond had knocked first, curious to see if the now-infamous Jeremy would be in the flat to answer Bond’s summons. He had no idea if Q’s boyfriend lived with him, but he was willing to bet that he did. Bond noted that no sounds were coming from beyond the door, and he made quick work of the substandard locking mechanism on the knob. The door fell open, and Bond stepped inside and shut the door behind him, re-engaging the locks so as not to cause alarm.

He took a quick tour of the place, observing that even in the darkness, it was easy to tell that two men lived in the flat. There were two sets of dishes in the sink and a mix of photographs that held either entire groups of strangers or photographs of Q with strangers. A few photos showed Q under the arm of a man that was built similarly to a MI6 agent- average build but muscular, and easily a few inches taller than Q. The furniture was sleek and mostly understated in a way that gave a nod to careful planning. In the bedroom, there were two bedside tables and each had a very different array of items on it. The table that sat on the far side of the room had a book, a water glass, and a contact lens case. The other had a tablet set upright on a stand and a cell phone charger twined around a lamp. The latter was clearly Q’s.

In the bathroom Bond dug through the cabinets and found a makeshift first aid kit. Pulling aside the zipper on the bag, he found generic-looking bottles of pills that in fact contained MI6-issued narcotics. There was also a long strip of sanitization wipes and a box of band-aids and butterfly stitches that had clearly seen heavy use.

Back in the bedroom, Bond dug through the bedside table that was clearly Jeremy’s and found a bottle of lubricant and a box of condoms. It struck Bond as telling that the items had been in Jeremy’s drawer, and he recalled the shape of the bruises on Q’s body- he had clearly been grabbed from behind. The thought dug under Bond’s skin and nestled there, nagging at him as he returned the items to the drawer and walked back out in the sitting room. He sat in one of the chairs and waited to see who would return to the flat first, Q or Jeremy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments have been wonderful! Please continue to let me know what you think of the fic!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Dalekfighter1190 <3

Q parked his motorbike in the alley and walked around to the front of the building. He pulled a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lit it with one hand shielding the lighter’s flame from the damp gusts of wind. There was a small overhang from the roof above that shielded Q from the worst of the rain as he sucked down his nicotine fix. He smoked quickly, eager to get up to the flat and dry off.

“Thomas, you’ve got a package.” An old woman smiled up at Q, who had paused in the entryway of his building to sort through the mail. He had been distracted by a hand written envelope addressed to him, which he pulled out of the stack and tucked into his pocket. Most of the rest of the mail belonged to Jeremy. Q was careful not to give out his address most of the time.

“What was that, Mrs. Gilligan?” Q asked, turning towards the elderly lady that lived in flat A. Q liked the woman, despite her occasional nosiness. As a result, he chatted with her often, so long as Jeremy wasn’t around to hurry him out the door or fix the neighbors with a rude sneer that so often made them snub Q before long.

“A man dropped by to deliver a package. I let him up, I didn’t realize you weren’t home. You work too much, you know.”

“I know Mrs. Gilligan, I know.” Q sighed. This was not the first time that Mrs. Gilligan had scolded him for his work habits. “Thanks for letting him in. I’ll see to it.”

The trouble was, Q hadn’t ordered a package. When he did, he had them sent to the complimentary mail service that MI6 had for their employees. MI6 could check packages for threats, and Q never had to worry about something getting ruined if he worked late. He wrote the whole ordeal off as a fluke and let the mystery deliver pass out of his mind as he sorted through his mail. 

Q tucked his mail under his arm and began to trudge up the stairs, his boots clomping as he walked. His hair was mostly dry; the helmet that he carried in one hand had shielded the bulk of the moisture on the ride from headquarters, which was more than he could say for the legs of his trousers. The fabric clung to his calves as he approached his flat, relieved that he would have time to change in the hour before Jeremy would be getting off of work. It would also give him time to brace himself for the coming deluge of Jeremy’s emotions. Maybe if he was smart enough, he could distract Jeremy from his anger and they could just have a normal evening. That faint glimmer of hope was what carried Q to the door of his flat, and it was what kept him from running away. 

The flat was mostly dark, but that didn’t bother Q as he dumped the mail on the kitchen counter and worked his way through the sitting room and into the bedroom. He dropped his bike helmet on the side table in the hall and shrugged off his leather jacket painfully. He cursed quietly when he finally pulled it off of his arms, and draped it on the bedroom door before he disappeared into the bathroom to check the bruises yet again. They were darker, and his shoulder was considerably swollen. The sight of himself tightened something in Q’s chest, and he decided to make himself some tea. He could finish the painful process of undressing the rest of his body after he had a little bit of Earl Gray. 

That was how Q ended up passing back through his sitting room, without a shirt, wearing the soaked-through trousers and his leather boots. He filled the kettle on the kitchen stove and re-locked the door to the flat, deciding that having some warning as to Jeremy’s return would only serve as a benefit. 

Q turned on the stove and walked back into the sitting room, this time taking a moment to flick on a light. He jumped when he saw James Bond sitting in one of his chairs, staring up at him with stern eyes.

“Bloody fucking hell, what are you doing here?” Q asked angrily, clutching at his chest. He felt the pounding adrenaline that came with terror.

“Who did that to you, Q?” Bond asked quietly. His gaze made Q shift uncomfortably, and he hiked up the thighs of his soaking trousers so that he could gingerly perch on the arm of his sofa. He dropped his head into one hand for a moment before he pushed the hair away from his face.

“It’s not important, Bond.” Q said, aware that in the yellow lights of the apartment, the bruises that decorated his body would look so much more intense than the injuries actually were; even worse, his older bruises would begin to show as well. Jeremy was always the most reticent when he saw Q’s body outside of the bedroom. The unfavorable lighting dramaticized everything.

“Fuck, Q. Have you seen yourself?” Bond said, his voice low. “You look like you’ve been beaten to hell.”

“I’m _fine,_ Double-oh Seven.” Q snapped. The water in the kettle began to burble loudly, preparing to boil.

_“Q, don’t give me that bullshit._ ” Bond stood and Q was certain that Bond was going to take hold of his arm, but the agent froze when he saw the traces of old, finger-shaped bruises just under his elbow and across his wrist. 

_“Just give me a name.” Bond said just as the kettle began to screech. “I’ll track them down, make sure this never happens to you again.”_

_“Bond, please.” Q pleaded quietly. “Please, just leave it alone.”_

“What in the fuck is going on here?” Jeremy’s voice thundered from the kitchen, and Q felt a wave of nausea crash in his stomach. He turned, and through the growing steam of his boiling water he saw Jeremy standing in the doorway, eyes wide and fists drawn tight to his sides. 

Q was suddenly hyper-aware that he was still without a shirt, and that Bond was standing incredibly close to him. Bond did not seem intent on saying anything, he only took in Jeremy slowly and stood quietly. 

“Jeremy, this is James.” Q rasped, panic overriding any common sense in his brain. He was just lucky that something kept him from spilling Bond’s last name or worse- his Double-oh identity. 

“He was just leaving.” 

“I’d hope so.” Jeremy said evenly, his every word laced with unspoken threats. 

It was easy to see the looks that Bond kept shooting Q, trying to see what Q wanted him to do. As Jeremy stared between the two of them, Q took in a deep breath and gestured to the door. Bond began to walk, staring evenly at Jeremy as he walked past. Q was counting the footsteps until Bond crossed the threshold to the hallway, and was dismayed when Bond paused. 

“Wait.” Bond said, turning around. “I forgot to leave you the passcode for the program; you won’t get into it otherwise.” 

Q was confused, but under Jeremy’s watchful glare he was too frightened to ask Bond what he was talking about. Instead, he pulled the piece of mail with his name on it from his pocket and grabbed a pen, which he walked over to Bond. 

Bond took the paper and used one of the upper cabinets to scrawl something down on the page. He handed it back to Q, nodded carefully to Jeremy, and left- shutting the door behind him.  
The moment that the door was closed, Q felt a tight grasp on his arm before he was thrown bodily from the kitchen. He slammed into the back of the couch and fell to the floor, grasping his right hip as pain exploded through it. 

“You’re cheating on me you dumb fuck.” Jeremy growled, advancing towards Q. He stopped mere inches away, and then landed a cruel kick into Q’s side. “I can’t even look at you.” He kicked Q again. His shoe caught Q just under the rib, and a small gash began to form. 

“That’s not- he was just dropping off something for work.” Q gasped. 

“Don’t!” Jeremy screamed. “I don’t want to hear that shit. You and that bloody job- what’s so important that you’re over at the office at all hours of the night, getting calls at home, and now you’ve got house guests? Bollocks.” 

“Jeremy, please.” Q murmured, and cried out as Jeremy reached down and yanked Q upwards by the hair and forced him around so that his back was slammed into the wall. 

“I don’t want to hear it.” Jeremy said. “I should throw you out- let you see how little the world gives a shit about a pathetic computer geek like you.” He used his grasp on Q’s hair to pull him forward and then slam him back against the wall again. 

“I’m sorry, Jeremy, I’m so sorry.” Q cried as his skull crashed into the wall. He felt as if his head was being split into two. 

“You better be.” Jeremy hissed, just before he grabbed Q by the back of the neck and pulled him off of the wall to thrust him down the hallway towards the bedroom. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Dalekfighter1190 for Beta-ing!

At precisely 2:33 in the morning, Bond’s mobile phone lit up with a text message. The phone was resting on his glass coffee table, directly in front of where he had been sitting vigilantly all night, watching the screen.

He picked up the mobile and initiated the screen.

_I don’t know if you’re awake, but if you are, please help. On the corner of Locust and Spruce. –Q._

Bond jumped to his feet, grabbed his coat, and left his flat, firing off a text as he walked. 

 

Ten minutes later, he drove up to the cross streets that Q had indicated and was surprised to see Q standing in the street a few feet from the curb, leaning slightly against a motorbike and smoking a cigarette while the rain poured down. Bond parked his car behind the bike and stepped out, approaching Q cautiously. 

“You figured out the code.” Bond said, looking Q up and down. The Quartermaster glanced over at him briefly and took a long drag of his cigarette.

“0T7956X4E348T07E” Q rattled off, still staring at the ground. “There aren’t many anagrams for the word text. It was good thinking, I’ll give you that.”

“What happened?” Bond asked, stepping closer to Q. Once he was closer, it was easier to see that Q’s hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

“He was livid.” Q replied, flicking ash into the street. “He spent a good forty-five minutes beating the shit out of me. When he got tired of that, he moved on to his second-favorite pastime.” Q shifted uncomfortably, and despite the white rage that flashed through Bond, he decided not to ask precisely what that pastime was. “Afterwards I made some tea, and snuck a few sleeping pills into his cup.”

“You drugged him.” Bond said. Q glanced up at him, and nodded.

“It was the only way to pack a bag and get my motorbike started without waking him up.” Q explained. “But it would seem, given the current extent of my injuries, that I can’t ride the bike just now.” He slid a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed. “So I got in touch with you. I would have just gotten on the tube, but it doesn’t run this late on a weeknight.”

“Can you leave the bike here for the evening?” Bond asked, fighting the cold air and the wet that was beginning to seep through his coat. 

Q nodded and dropped his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with a boot-clad foot.

“Where were you heading?” Bond asked. “Do you have friends or family anywhere nearby?”

Q chuckled darkly. “I don’t have anyone. Just Jeremy. I was going to headquarters.”

“Right then. Get in the car.” Bond said. “We’ll figure something out.”

By “figure something out,” Bond meant that he would be taking Q back to his flat. They drove in silence through the mostly-empty London streets. Bond gripped his steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white, and Q stared resolutely out of the car window.

There was an uncomfortable moment where Bond realized that Q smelled like sex. Actually, he reeked of it. Bond glanced over, and noticed that Q was dressed haphazardly- he had probably just thrown on whatever was closest and dry before leaving. Q’s long, delicate fingers were tangled through the straps of a bag that was nestled at the Quartermaster’s feet. A bike helmet sat in the man’s lap.

Bond made a final turn and parked his car, pausing for a moment before he addressed Q.

“This is my flat.” Bond said, although it probably did not actually require an explanation, “You can stay with me for the night.”

“And what about tomorrow?” Q asked. His voice was subdued, almost distracted, and Bond felt his heart sink.

“You should get some sleep first. We’ll worry about tomorrow when it gets here.”

More than anything, Bond wanted to let Q curl up on his couch and let him sleep forever. It wasn’t possible, however, once Bond saw Q in proper lighting. His grey shirt was stained with blood, and the earlier limp was so much more exaggerated that Bond was worried that something had been fractured. He took the helmet from Q’s hands and placed it on a table in his entryway before leading Q straight into a bathroom.

Underneath his sink was a MI6-grade first aid kit. Bond pulled it out and pushed back the snaps on the lid. He tried not to notice how Q flinched at the sound.

“You’re going to need to strip down for this.” Bond said frankly. He was too concerned about the blood to care much about being delicate for the moment. “Otherwise, we’ll have to take you to the A&E ward, and they’ll want to file a police report and the whole nine yards.”

Q didn’t say a word as he shucked off his trousers and dumped his shirt on the floor, remaining only in his pants. Bond took in a sharp breath when he saw the pale skin and sharp planes of Q’s body, completely marred by gashes and bruises. Immediately, Bond filled the sink with warm water and set about wiping away the blood on Q’s skin while the younger man winced and hissed but did not move away from Bond’s touch. As he worked, Bond ran his hands gingerly over Q’s skin, checking for fractures and breaks as he worked. To his relief, he didn’t find any. 

There were, however, new bruises along Q’s ribcage, back, stomach, and legs. There were cuts all over Q’s body, but mostly on his abdomen. The bruises on Q’s hips were layered, new over old, and looked terribly painful.

“Here, take this.” Bond pulled a painkiller from the kit and handed it over. Q took it without question and swallowed it dry.

Bond knew when the pill had begun to take effect when Q’s body began to sag and he began to lean on the counter for support. Most of the blood was cleared from Q’s body and Bond began to fiddle with a series of plasters and butterfly-stitches, killing time until the pill took effect fully. Once there was a considerable lack of tension in Q’s stance, Bond knew that the next bit would be easier to do.

“Q, could you turn so that I can get your back?” Bond asked, his voice cautious. Q nodded and turned silently. At first, Bond kept his focus on Q’s shoulders and upper back, before he began to slip lower. By the time he was finished, Bond was certain that the damp sections on Q’s pants were, in fact, blood.

“I need to check you for more serious injuries.” Bond said quietly. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

“Bond, no-“ Q began, and Bond was surprised to see the sheer panic in Q’s expression as he turned to look behind himself.

“Q, there’s blood.” Bond said pointedly.

“It’s nothing serious, I checked.” Q said, fidgeting his body away from Bond. The fact that Q had felt the need to check for the kind of damage that Bond was worried about only intensified his certainty that they were dealing with the worst possible scenario.

“Q, I really don’t want to take you to A&E if I don’t have to, but I will.” Bond pressed. He tried to keep his tone from sounding threatening, but he desperately wanted Q to understand how serious he was.

“Fine.” Q said, his voice utterly subdued. He took a deep breath, and Bond watched awkwardly as Q peeled his pants down his thighs and let them rest around his ankles.

Bond drew in a sharp, furious breath. A quick check showed that Q’s body was mostly intact, just battered. He wouldn’t need emergency care.

Instead of the internal injury that Bond expected, there was a letter that had recently been carved crudely into Q’s skin. Blood seeped around the wound, and it was clear where the blood on Q’s pants had come from. It was most concentrated at the skin just under Q’s hip, along the length of his arse on Q’s right-hand side. 

Bond’s jaw clenched furiously as he picked up a rag and carefully began cleaning the cut. Q’s breath hitched as Bond worked, first swiping the rag in a straight line, and then following another line downwards into a hooked curve at the end.

A letter J.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Dalekfighter1190 for putting up with me and beta'ing!

Humiliation was what had kept Q from telling Bond about Jeremy’s mark. It wasn’t until he was braced against the agent’s bathroom sink that he realized the inevitability of Bond’s discovery. With his pants around his feet, Q tried to keep his face from burning in embarrassment as Bond’s fingers brushed against him with frank, perfunctory motions. Even so, the contact made Q’s stomach roll with nausea. It was too much, too soon.

His only comfort was that the pain had finally eased and the cruel sharpness of reality had dulled around the edges. It made it easier to deal with the resolute silence in which Bond worked on him, and it helped quell the panic that rose in him like bile whenever he realized that eventually, Jeremy would figure out that he had left.

“This needs stitches.” Bond said quietly, and Q felt as if his knuckles would break from the vice-like grip that he had on the counter.  
“I need you to do it.” Q said, his voice subdued. “It’s a lot to ask, I know, but-“

“It’s fine.” Bond interrupted, resting a hand briefly on Q’s hip. “Just let me sterilize a needle.”

It took a half hour for Bond to decide that Q was sufficiently cleaned up. Between the patches of gauze and plasters and the stitches, Q felt as if he were a scarecrow. It was appropriate, in any case; he was a straw man.

“You won’t be able to shower for at least a day.” Bond said as he finished, getting to his feet. He glanced at Q in the mirror briefly before looking away, busying himself with sterilizing the curved needle he had been using.

“Let me get you something to wear.” Bond said after he had cleared away the kit. “I’ll throw your clothes into the wash.” He picked up Q’s discarded clothes from the floor and walked away, closing the door behind him.

And so Q waited, naked, for Bond to return to him. He settled against the counter with his hands folded below his waist and glanced around the room. It was bright, and stark. There was a pump for hand soap and a plain white towel hanging on a rack. There was something distinctly hotel-like about the room. Q almost expected for there to be trial-sized shampoos in the shower.

Fuck, he wanted a shower. He wanted to rinse every inch of Jeremy off of his body. He felt a bit cleaner now, but what he wanted more than anything was a steady drenching and to rub his skin raw until he had scraped away an entire layer of skin.

A few minutes later there was a soft knock on the door just before it opened about a foot. A hand reached in, holding a few folded items of clothing.

“Here, they’ll be a bit too large, but it’s the best I have right now.” Bond said from the other side of the door. Q was grateful for the privacy as he tugged the grey sweatpants over his hips and pulled the large Royal Navy t-shirt over his chest. The process took notably longer than it should have; Q moved slowly and gingerly, wincing as the fabric grazed over fresh cuts.

When Q finally emerged from the bathroom, he was thoroughly exhausted. Slowly, he padded out into the sitting room, where Bond was tucking a set of sheets into the couch. He looked up as Q entered, and flicked his eyes over Q’s body. With a reddening face, Q realized that Bond was seeing all of the marks and cuts and bruises, even the ones hidden by fabric.

“I thought that it would be better for you to sleep in a proper bed.” Bond said as he straightened himself. “Take my bed, I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“That’s unnecessary Bond, I’ve put you out enough.” Q protested, but stopped when Bond put a hand up.

“I don’t want to hear it, Q. If you toss and turn too much you’ll open your stitches. It’s better if you’re comfortable to begin with. Besides, I’ve slept in far more uncomfortable places than a couch.”

This was true enough, and with the pain wearing away, Q was left with the bone-deep exhaustion that accompanied emotional turmoil. All that he wanted was a place to curl up. Bond finished tucking a corner of a sheet into the couch cushions and then gestured for Q to follow him, heading down the hallway to the bedroom. Without more than a cursory glance around the room Q crawled in, his body cradled by the soft sheets. Disjointedly, Q thought about thread counts as he laid his head against a soft feather pillow and immediately began to drift away.

He felt warm hands pull his glasses away from his face, and heard the soft _clink_ of his frames being set down. After that, it was all darkness.

The next morning Q felt the pain radiating from his body before he even opened his eyes. He got up gingerly and stumbled into the bathroom and stopped dead when he saw his reflection in the mirror.

While his face was relatively clear besides the tired bruising under his eyes, the shirt that Bond had given him to wear was too big and arced widely away from his neck, revealing the first of the deeply dark bruising that began just above his collarbone. Q lifted the shirt and winced when he saw the colorful palate cascading down his chest.

Then he turned slightly, and lowered the elastic waistband of Bond’s sweatpants to reveal his hips and arse. There, across his cheek, was the mottled wound that had been carefully needled back together. The J, deep and permanent, flushed against his pale skin.

The ground pitched under Q, and he found himself kneeling on the floor and vomiting into the porcelain toilet without consciously deciding to do so. He rested for awhile, his forehead against his forearm where he lay crumpled on the floor.  
A knock on the door startled Q.

“Q?” Bond called in, his voice warm and calm. Desperately, Q reached back to ensure that his clothes covered his battered body, and then got shakily to his feet.

“Just a moment.” Q replied, turning on the taps to splash water on his face before he rinsed his mouth out and spit the water back into the sink. He took a deep breath, and opened the bathroom door. Bond took a step back on the other side, dressed only in tight black pants and an undershirt.

“Are you alright?” Bond asked, immediately looking Q up and down. Heat rose to Q’s face, and he gingerly pushed his way past the agent and back into the bedroom, where he collected his glasses from a bedside table. He felt Bond’s heavy gaze on his back as he carefully sank down onto the bed and set his head in his hands.

“It’s still not just a bad dream.” He mumbled into the palms of his hands.

“What can-“ Bond began, but was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Q looked up from his fingers, a knot in his stomach. His entire body felt cold.

“It’ll be Jeremy.” He rasped, looking around the room for his phone. Bond held up a hand, signaling Q to sit still, and retrieved the mobile from the hall. Q craned his neck to see the man pick up the unassuming device from a small table and glance at the display screen. The lines in his back went rigid just before he turned around, holding the phone at a distance to his body as if it were contaminated.

“Would you like me to turn it off?” Bond asked as the phone continued to ring. After a few seconds it stopped, only to begin again a few moments later. “Or have R disconnect the line? I’m sure she could arrange it easily enough.”

“N-no.” Q stuttered, standing and walking shakily across the room. “I should get it. He’ll never stop otherwise.”

“Do you want me to leave?” Bond asked. Q noticed how his eyes clouded over and his body seemed strained by some sort of considerable effort.

“Please stay.” Q said, barely a whisper. The thought of facing Jeremy alone seemed terrifying, even if it was only over the phone.

“Okay.” Bond replied. A weak but reassuring smile crossed his face as Q took the mobile into his hands and answered it; steeling himself for the barrage on the other end.

“Where the fuck are you?” Jeremy’s voice hissed on the other end. “You think I don’t know what the fuck you did- I’ll have you arrested. I’ll have you locked up for the rest of your pathetic bloody life.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Q said. His voice shook audibly. He glanced up at Bond, who gave him a small nod of encouragement.

“You fucking drugged me you stupid cunt. You left the fucking bottle open in the kitchen!”

“Don’t- you beat the shit out of me.” Q said, his voice rising. “You carved your initial into my arse and you raped me. Again. Don’t think for a second that the authorities won’t put you away the same as me.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line, and Q pulled the phone away from his ear momentarily to rub the heel of his hand against his brow.

“What are you going to do, Tom? Where are you going to go?” Jeremy asked tauntingly as Q returned the phone to his ear. “You had no one when you met me, and you have no one now.”

“I’ll figure it out.” Q said, his voice deceptively hard. Anxiety and terror clawed at his chest. He had no next step, no plan. 

“You really think you can just walk away from me?” Jeremy was laughing on the other end of the line; bitter and cold and every bit as violent as he had been the evening before. “Who else is going to take care of your sorry arse? You can barely remember to feed yourself.”

“Don’t call this number anymore, Jeremy.” Q said quietly. The mobile began to shake. Q had a hard time keeping it pressed to his ear.

“I won’t need to. I’ll see you soon enough.” Jeremy said cooly. He hung up the phone, and Q sat on the bed numbly, listening to the growing silence on the line. It wasn’t until Bond walked forward and took the mobile from him that he snapped out of his trance.

“He’s right.” Q rasped, knitting his fingers together.

“About what?” Bond asked after he tossed the phone onto the bedside table.

“I have nowhere to go. I have no one. Everything I own is in his damn flat- even my fucking bike is parked a block away from the damn building.”

Q was surprised when Bond settled onto the bed next to him and let out a long, slow sigh.

“We’ll work it out.” He said. And somehow, Q believed him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Dalekfighter1190 for being an awesome beta!

That afternoon Bond pulled another pill from the first aid kit and gave it to Q. The Quartermaster was sitting on the front steps of the flat, chain smoking, when Bond stepped outside. He tried not to notice how Q’s hands shook, even as they clutched the cigarette.

“Is Medical aware that you’ve taken liberties with their chemist?” Q asked as he rolled the pill in his hand.

“It’s my job to get access to some of the most clandestine places on the planet.” Bond said pointedly. “Their security isn’t quite up to snuff to handle the double-ohs. Not for a lack of trying, of course.”

“I would threaten to make some improvements, but this is rather working to my benefit at the moment.” Q said with a small smile. He pressed the cigarette to his lips and inhaled deeply, wincing as his chest expanded. He blew the smoke out of his nose, and popped the pill into his mouth, swallowing it dry.

They moved inside, and Bond suggested that Q take advantage of the medication’s side effects to sleep for a few hours. It was enough time for Bond to open the door to the spare room in his flat and move a small mountain of boxes scattered throughout the otherwise empty room into one tall, precarious-looking pile in the corner. He then got on the phone and ordered a mattress and bed set from a furniture catalogue. With a few hundred pounds of incentive, he convinced the company to deliver the order to his home that evening.

He’d always been meaning to make up a guest room anyway.

When Q reappeared from his nap he was still groggy but walking with a considerably smaller limp, mostly likely thanks to the meds. Bond set a cup of tea out for him and waited for Q to take a few sips before he laid out a proposition for him.

“You should stay here for a few days.” Bond said, watching Q drink with a pained expression on his face. “The last thing you need to worry about right now is where you’re going to sleep at night.”

“I’ve already gotten you far too involved, Bond. I can’t infringe on your life anymore.” Q said, setting down his mug. His eyes were red-ringed and bloodshot. They looked painful. “I can kip on a camp bed at headquarters.”

“Q, you can’t go in to headquarters in this condition.” Bond said, instantly seeing the angle that he would have to play. “You’re in a right state. You need a few days to mend. You’re a danger to us if you aren’t operating at full capacity.” 

Instead of answering, Q stared down at the counter and took a deep sip of his tea. Bond took this as a concession, and continued.

“It’ll just be for a few days. Until the bruises fade and you’re not in so much pain.” He said.

”I can’t miss that much time, I’m a department head.” Q said. At the thought of Q branch, his posture straightened infinitesimally and he took a deep breath. 

“Take some sick days.” Bond replied. They both knew that the only double-o i the programme was under deep cover. Everything else happening in Q Branch was R&D. 

“I don’t even have clothes.” Q said quietly. “Everything I own is at Jeremy’s.”

“I’ll go around tomorrow and collect some things.” Bond said.

“No.” Q snapped. He set the mug down with a clash, and looked at the agent sharply. “You aren’t to go to the flat. There’s no telling what Jeremy will do.”

Bond was startled by the sudden change in demeanor from his Quartermaster. It made him remember the overwhelming power of fear, and the sort of reactions that it could cause.

“He won’t touch me.” Bond said. He tried to keep a reassuring tone in his voice, but Q appeared to be unaffected. “Q, it’ll be fine.”

It had been one thing to see Q, drenched but impassive, standing next to his motorbike the night before. Of course, Bond knew that most of it had been bravado, but he had taken some comfort in the strength in Q’s demeanor all the same. The man had remained stoic during the night before, but over time Q’s resolve seemed to have worn away. He was showing the cracks in his armor; the frays along his edges.

“I’ll come with you.” Q said, looking resolutely at Bond. There was fear in his eyes, but a thick armor of determination seemed to be forming around the man.

“No.” Bond replied simply.

“Let me come with you, or I’ll go on my own.” Q said pointedly. Bond sighed, realizing immediately how little authority he truly had over the situation.

“Fine.” Bond said, crossing his arms over his chest. “But we’re not lingering. And we’re going to go during a time where Jeremy shouldn’t be home.”

“Then we should leave soon.” Q said, glancing at his watch. “He’ll get out of work in the next few hours.”

Bond sighed and ran his hand through his hair. There was not a single part of him that approved of their ‘plan.’

Yet not forty-five minutes later, Bond was parked outside of Q’s flat. They sat in the car for a minute while Q craned his neck upwards.

“He’s not home. None of the lights are on.” Q observed.

“It’s still daylight.” Bond pointed out, although the sun was setting quickly.

“Just trust me. He’s not there. Not yet.”

“Then let’s go.” Bond said. Reflexively, he checked that his Walther PPK was set firmly against his side as Q led the way into the building and up the stairs. Q’s limp had returned, and Bond was trying to figure out how he could get a stronger set of pain meds while they made their way to Q’s flat.

“Fifteen minutes. We need to be in and out.” Bond said, pacing across the living room to stare out the windows overlooking the street. The roof beneath them blocked his view of the sidewalk below. It made him nervous, so he returned to the door and locked it while Q rummaged through cabinets and drawers, dumping things on the couch that he intended to take with him.

It wasn’t until Q had made two circuits around the room that Bond realized he was deliberately avoiding the bedroom. Instead he stared at a wall of pictures, some depicting Q and Jeremy wrapped around one another.

“Where are your clothes?” Bond asked, startling Q.

“Bedroom.” Q said.

“Need a hand?” Bond prompted.

“No.” Q replied suddenly. “I’ve got it.”

He turned and walked quickly into the bedroom, and Bond heard him going through a series of drawers. While he waited, Bond leaned against the back of the couch. Q was gone for nearly ten minutes when Bond heard a key fiddling into the door. Bond froze for a split second, and then moved quickly towards the bedroom.

Q looked up, startled, as Bond walked into the room. He was standing at the foot of the bed, holding a blood stained sheet in his hands. His face was pale, and immediately he dropped the swath of fabric as Bond looked at him.

“Jeremy is here.” Bond said, closing the bedroom door behind him and drawing his gun. Q blanched visibly at the sight of the weapon, despite the fact that he had been the one to issue it to Bond in the first place.

“What are you-“

“You need to get the last of your stuff and pack it up.” Bond said with urgency. “We need to get you out of here as quickly as possible.”

Q nodded and began to pull clothes out of his drawers and throw them into a duffle bag that he had laid open on the floor. He disappeared for a moment to go into the ensuite bathroom, mumbling about needing his lens cleaner.

“Hello?” A voice called from the hallway. Bond took a few steps backwards, angling himself between the bathroom and the doorway. The door opened, and Jeremy walked into the room. Q returned from the bathroom a few seconds later, and Bond heard the small gasp Q made as Jeremy’s eyes raked over him.

“The fuck are you doing?” Jeremy demanded, taking a step forward. Bond leveled his gun at Jeremy, whose eyes narrowed.

“Come the fuck off it. You’re going to threaten me in my own damn house?” He snapped.

“Shut up you disgusting prick.” Bond said, his tone even but dangerous. “You’re not to take another step towards him, or I promise I will delight in shooting you in the cock.”

Jeremy laughed. “Got yourself a nice guard dog, Tommy. Should’ve known you’d never have the balls to turn up here on your own. You never could fight your own battles.”

“Shut up.” Bond snapped. “I don’t want to hear another word from you.”

“Christ Tommy, I knew you were easy, but you must really be giving it up to get someone like this on your side.” Jeremy quipped. Bond cocked the gun, and Jeremy raised his arms defensively before stepping back to sit on the bed. As Jeremy moved, so did Bond. He maintained an even five feet between himself and the abusive asshole now seated in front of him.  
He wanted, more than anything, to kill the man. He had a license to kill, and what was one more domestically abusive shithead wiped from the map? But his main focus had to be Q. Without taking his eyes off of Jeremy, Bond tilted his head to the side.

“Grab whatever’s left. We’ve got to go.”

“Always good at taking orders, aren’t you, Tommy?” Jeremy murmured coyly, his eyes locked on Q. “I should have figured you’d do this- go off and find someone else to pick up your pieces, to take care of the things you’ve never been man enough to deal with on your own.”

“I told you to shut the fuck up.” Bond said. Jeremy grinned.

“You can’t shoot me. The cops would be here in a minute.” Jeremy said, turning most of his attention to the gun.

“Don’t try me.” Bond warned him, taking a few steps closer. He caught the occasional flickers that Jeremy’s eyes made in Q’s direction. His gaze was predatory and purely threatening for a moment, before it smoothed.

“None of this would have happened if you could have just loved me the way that I loved you, Tommy.” Jeremy said softly, clearly changing tactics. “You know I didn’t mean any of this to happen.”

Q froze from behind Bond, stopping in the middle of stuffing a few last items into the duffle bag. He regarded Jeremy for a moment, guilt rampant in his features.

“You need to finish packing.” Bond said, breaking Q’s concentration. He stared at Bond for a moment, before he spurred himself back into movement. He picked the bag up off of the floor to head back into the sitting room. His gait was clearly impacted by the addition of the bag- Q was in serious pain.

“Walking a bit funny, aren’t you Tommy?” Jeremy said as Q passed behind Bond and hurried towards the door. “I’ve got to admit, at least-“

But whatever Jeremy intended on admitting was lost as Bond closed the final few feet between them and brought the butt of his gun down hard onto Jeremy’s skull. The man collapsed down on the bed, and Q froze two steps into the hallway in shock.

“What-“

“Q! Go!” Bond snapped, thoroughly irritated by the entire situation. He wanted to get Q out of the building, to safety. He wanted to get out of the flat before he lost control and murdered Jeremy. Revenge schemes were a considerable weakness of his. 

“Right, right.” Q mumbled, disappearing from the room.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by Dalekfighter1190- the best Beta in the world!

Q drove Bond’s car back to the flat, while Bond fetched the motorbike and used a manual override key that Q had developed to get it to respond to his command. They brought Q’s things into the house just as the furniture delivery arrived, and didn’t say anything to one another while Bond busied himself with directing the movers. Afterwards, Q shut himself in the newly arranged guest bedroom, and Bond sat in his kitchen drinking scotch and attempting to convince himself not to go back and murder Jeremy. He had to tell himself, over and over again, that killing Jeremy wouldn’t undo anything, and it wouldn’t give Q the kind of closure that he needed. 

The bed that Q was laying on was mostly comfortable, although it seemed far too large, considering he would be sleeping in it alone. Not that it mattered. His arrangement with Bond was temporary. Soon enough, he would have to get his own flat. Maybe after work on Monday or Tuesday, he would check the listings in the papers. Get an agent. Go on tours. That was how these things usually worked. 

But the truth of the matter was that the entirety of Q’s world was shifting too quickly for him to completely keep up with. He was laying in a co-worker’s flat, beaten halfway to hell and back, surrounded by the only things that he had been able to reclaim from his apartment in less than fifteen minutes. The deep cut on his arse hurt where it rubbed against his pants, and it was impossible for him to find a position to lay in that didn’t aggravate one of his many bruises.

Even so, Q kept his mind trained on the obvious things; he didn’t have anywhere to live. His body hurt. He was tired, despite the painkillers that Bond had given him. Those thoughts kept him from drifting to the undeniable hurt that was the fact that two days ago, he had still been with Jeremy. Technically, they hadn’t even broken up. It was unspoken, and Q had set it in motion the moment that he left the apartment on Friday, but there was no closure. Only a wound in Q’s chest that did not bleed, but gaped open all the same. Somehow, knowing that he was completely alone again, that Jeremy wouldn’t love him anymore, hurt more than the bruises did. He had truly loved Jeremy, despite everything. It hadn’t been all bad, particularly in the beginning, and the Jeremy that had held him down and beaten him was not the same Jeremy that he had fallen in love with.

Q missed the Jeremy that he had fallen in love with, and it was incredibly difficult for him to accept that that person was no longer accessible to him.

Before too many hours had passed, Bond knocked softly on the door.

“Q? I’ve brought you some tea.” He called through the door. Q stood and let Bond in, watching as the agent put a tray down on a small side table and glanced around the room. His gaze fell on the stack of boxes.

“I can have someone come in and remove these on Monday while you’re at work.” He said, gesturing to the clutter. Q glanced at him dubiously, unsure of how to reconcile this new, caring Bond with the lethal assassin that he had known.

“Don’t put yourself out.” Q said, sitting gingerly back down on the bed. He glanced at the tea and cleared his throat.

“No offense, Bond but do you have anything stronger?” He asked, gesturing to the cup.

When Bond returned with a glass of scotch in each hand- a double for Q and a single for himself- he sat down on the bed next to his Quartermaster and sighed.

“I think that you should send word to M about your current situation,” Bond said. At Q’s immediate protest, he held up a hand. “I’m not saying that you need to give him all of the gory details, just indicate that you were involved in an incident and need a few days of recovery time.”

“I don’t want to get anyone else involved.” Q shook his head, quietly.

“Your other choice is to go into MI6 like this and be sent immediately down to medical.” Bond said. “It would just be a few days.”

“I suppose I need to start looking for a flat regardless.” Q said. A jolt of fear spurred through him at the thought. Jeremy would find him, contact him somehow, and Q wouldn’t be able to keep him away. He just knew it.

“There’s no rush.” Bond shrugged.

Q only nodded in response, staring into the bottom of his glass. 

“I feel like I’m starting over.” He said ruefully, although the twinges of a smile played at the edges of his lips. “It’s like someone pressed a reset button on my life, and didn’t ask me first. At one point I was perfectly happy, and then shit got bad, and now I have absolutely nothing.”

“In my personal experience, starting over does not necessarily have to be a bad thing.” Bond said, looking at Q. “And when it comes to starting over, it’s always easier to do things piece by piece.”

“Is that how you did it?” Q asked, glancing over. “After Turkey?”

“Not at all.” Bond said with a shake of his head. “But after Skyfall, I learned. Heal first, enough to get yourself by, and then go from there.”

“I still love him.” Q said quietly, flinching as the truth escaped his lips. He was ashamed, because of the bruises on his skin and the cuts that went deeper than bandages could heal. But there was a sense of defiance in him too; something that accommodated his link to Jeremy.

“That’s the shit part, really.” Bond said quietly. “We give ourselves to people, ask them to love us and they let us love them right back. We let them hurt us, and we are never quite able to let go as cleanly as we’d like.” He took a deep breath and stood, looking down at his empty glass before flashing his gaze back to Q. “We’re not supposed to be vulnerable, Q. Our livelihoods depend on it. But we can’t help it, and maybe we shouldn’t have to.”

“What are you saying?” Q asked.

“I’m saying that you’re going to keep loving him for a little while, because that sort of thing doesn’t disappear suddenly. It’s okay to be vulnerable occasionally, because it keeps us human. But make sure that you remember that there are some things that we can’t come back from, and there’s a very distinct difference between nostalgic love and actual love.”

“Spoken like a true, bloody poet.” Q said, raising his glass. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Bond raised his own, empty as it was. Q watched him turn and go, leaving him alone once again.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the lovely Dalekfighter1190!

“You can’t keep guarding him like a precious commodity. He needs to get himself back out there.” Moneypenny said from the opposite side of the table. She and Bond were sitting in a tiny café. MI6 headquarters could be seen in the distance, starkly bright against the setting sun.

“I’m not guarding him from anything.” Bond argued, setting his cup of coffee down on the table. “He doesn’t even live with me anymore. I don’t have any control over what he does.”

“Except for the fact that you’re over there every single night, doing goodness knows what.” Eve said pointedly.

“We watch sports. He fiddles with his laptop. I read. It’s nothing sinister, I assure you.” Bond replied tiredly. This was not the first time that he and Moneypenny had had this conversation. In fact, it seemed like at least once a week for the past two months, the topic would be rehashed anew. Ever since Q returned to work despite Bond’s suggestion, bruises still evident on his skin.

As Bond had warned, Q had been hauled down to Medical in short order. By the time Bond had heard and had rushed to the medical facility, Q had been stripped down and was being inspected thoroughly. Even so, Q had refused to identify the person who had done so much damage to his body.

When they figured out Bond’s involvement with the whole affair, Bond had been brought into M’s office for questioning. He revealed nothing, determined to keep Q’s privacy somewhat intact. Regardless, that was how Moneypenny had been clued into the situation, and that was how she had assumed responsibility for nagging Bond endlessly about Q’s life.

“It can’t be healthy. He won’t start dating again with you looming over him.” Eve said.

“He can date whenever he wants.” Bond argued, although the thought of Q sitting down for a romantic dinner with someone sent a small jolt through his stomach. “Christ, Moneypenny, it isn’t like he’s just coming out of a bad breakup. He might need more time.” 

“If he doesn’t get himself out there again, it might be ages before he gets up the guts to try.” She said, staring hard at Bond. “I know a nice, harmless bloke who would be great for him.”

“Set him up if you want, but you’ll have to go through him. This whole thing sounds like a terrible idea to me.” Bond replied.

“Christ Bond, he needs a normal distraction- not you watching over him like a hawk.” Moneypenny sighed.

“So then set it up.” Bond said irritably, tapping his fingers against the table with one hand while he drained his cup. “I really have to go, though.”

“Right. Our Quartermaster gets off around now, doesn’t he?” Moneypenny said, glancing down at her watch.

Bond pulled a few notes from his wallet and set them down on the table.

“Always a pleasure, Moneypenny.” Bond said politely before he left.

It only took two knocks on Q’s door before it was thrust open from the opposite side. Q smiled at Bond absently as he entered, and then returned to the kitchen, where smoke was billowing endlessly from the oven.

“I thought I’d make us a bite, and I bloody burned it.” Q said through the fog. Bond laughed and reached quickly to the ceiling, disengaging the smoke alarm before it could begin to screech. 

“Want me to order takeaway?” He asked, watching as a tray of something unrecognizable was thrust onto the stovetop to simmer in its own smoldering wreckage.

“I suppose.” Q huffed, staring down at his abomination. He was still wearing his work trousers and a white button-down, but his tie was gone and the sleeves were rolled up past his elbows. His hair had fallen out of its carefully styled swoop across his forehead and instead hung limply over his eyes. “And here I thought I’d make it look like I could provide food for once.”

“Yes, and dialing buttons requires real skill.” Bond joked, pulling out his mobile.

They ate with their feet propped up on a second-hand coffee table that Q had picked up the week before. It was a constant shock to Bond how long Q was willing to go without furniture in his flat, so long as the technology was up to date.

“How was your date with Moneypenny?” Q asked, rummaging through his Chinese takeout container with a pair of black chopsticks.

“It wasn’t a date.” Bond replied, not taking his eyes off of the Arsenal match in front of him. “But speaking of dates, our dear Eve seems to think that she’s found your perfect match. She wants to set you up.”

“Bloody lovely.” Q sighed, putting down his food. “I hope you told her to leave it be. I’m not interested.”

“I said no such thing. It’s not my place to get involved in your dating life.” Bond said, glancing over. He locked eyes with Q for a few moments before Q gulped and broke the line of sight.

“Of course it isn’t, but isn’t it your job to run interference on Moneypenny’s plots?” Q asked, curling his legs under him on the couch and settling against the cushions. “Christ, if I let her start setting me up, I’ll never have time to myself ever again.”

“Just tell her you’re not interested.” Bond shrugged, abandoning his own Chinese container.

“I’m going to have to.” Q ran his long fingers through his hair and then pulled them down over his mouth, pressing them together tightly. “There’s no way I can meet someone new. This guy could be anyone. He could do anything.”

Bond turned towards him, eyebrows knit in concern. Q had expressed this sort of thing once or twice before; he was very cautious around other people, as if suddenly aware of the potential any person had of causing him harm. The only places that Q seemed the least bit comfortable was locked in his office, handling a communications assignment, or in his own flat.

“I’m sure he’d be perfectly fine. He’s friends with Moneypenny, after all.” Bond assured him.

“I can’t date a stranger.” Q said, his voice low. He stared at Bond, something desperate in his expression. “I can’t be with someone that I don’t know if I can trust.”

“That’s going to make meeting someone practically impossi-“ Bond was cut off by Q suddenly lunging at him from across the couch, his lips locking on Bond’s. The kiss was needy, desperate, but it ignited a fire in the pit of Bond’s stomach that he hadn’t felt for an incredibly long time. Even so, he pulled away first.

“Fuck- what was that?” Bond asked, stumbling over the confusion clouding his brain.

“I don’t want any of those other guys. I don’t want to meet someone new.” Q breathed, running his fingers over Bond’s silk tie. “I want you.”

“Q-“ Bond started, and paused. Looking at the younger man in front of him, he saw all of the wonderful things about him. His intellect, his smile, his determination, but he also saw someone infinitesimally broken. “I don’t know if this is a good idea. You might not be ready for something like this.”

“Don’t tell me what I’m ready for.” Q said quietly, leaning in for another kiss. This one was softer, explorative, and Bond hated himself for letting it happen. But somehow, he couldn’t let it go at first. It took incredible willpower to finally break away.

“Please, Q- stop.” Bond said softly, placing his hands on Q’s shoulders and prying him off gently. “Look, we should talk about this.”

Q looked confused for a moment, and then hurt. Soon after, the hurt turned to a look of horror, and he shifted back on the couch.

“Oh fuck, James… you’re not interested at all, are you?” He asked in a low, broken voice. “I’m such a bloody idiot.”

“No, that isn’t what this is at all-“ Bond began, feeling as if the situation was somehow getting away from him.

“It’s fine. It’s just… you’ve been so good to me with everything and I must’ve- I’m such a bloody idiot.”

“Q, just let me-“

“I think you should go.” Q said, talking over Bond’s voice. “It’s getting late anyway, and I have to be in early tomorrow.” 

Unable to refuse a direct request from Q, he stood and slid on his shoes. He paused at the door to put on his coat, and turned back to where the Quartermaster was standing in the middle of his sitting room, brows furrowed and creased with worry.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” Bond asked, trying to break through to Q.

“Of course.” He replied, barely glancing over as Bond moved through the doorway and shut it behind him. The only indication that Bond received that Q knew he was gone was right after Bond shut the door, when all of the locks were engaged; solidifying the barrier between them.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thanks to Dalekfighter1190 for being a tireless Beta. 
> 
> Huge thanks to Jen(Consultingwriters) and Krispyskreme for all of their help and moral support as well! <3

For three days, Bond couldn’t quite bring himself to return to Q’s flat. They spoke at MI6, were cordial during meetings and at an office lunch organized by Moneypenny. Otherwise, Bond didn’t engage with Q at all, nor did the Quartermaster search out Bond. For one man, it was uncertainty and guilt. For the other, it was pure mortification. 

When Bond did finally get the gumption to reappear outside of Q’s doorstep, he was surprised to find that he wasn’t home. Panicked, Bond took out his MI6 phone and dialed Moneypenny, determined to enact a tracker placed in all Military Intelligence staff. 

“He’s on a date.” Moneypenny said tiredly. 

“No he’s not. He doesn’t trust strangers.” Bond said with exasperation. He needed Eve to get on the same page as him. 

“Bond, I set him up with a friend of mine. They’re out right now. Q didn’t tell you?” Moneypenny’s voice indicated that she was mere moments from prying. Bond felt it prudent to begin to extricate himself from the conversation. 

“You know, he may have mentioned it and I forgot. Sorry to bother, Moneypenny.” Bond hung up the phone, stood for another moment staring at the door to Q’s flat, and then went home. 

Another month passed, and although Bond occasionally found himself at Q’s flat in the evenings, their relationship was strained. The friend of Moneypenny’s- Gregory- had not lasted, but there were others in a string of boring lovers that Q brought home. They never talked about the men when they were together, and Bond knew that Q wasn’t entirely interested in any of them. They were safeties; men that Q didn’t feel thoroughly threatened by. Bond could understand it, even though the thought of Q crawling into bed with another man made his stomach churn. Although, if Bond was honest with himself, he wasn’t sure if Q was actually having sex. On more than one occasion, Q called Bond after his dates, whether they had been successful or not. 

One Tuesday night, Q asked Bond to come over to his flat early in the day, which was odd. Typically, Bond’s visits were no more than sudden texts of boredom after work. Regardless, he showed up at Q’s and they ordered take-away and settled in front of the television in near-silence, as had become their habit. It was Bond’s reserve that broke first, to the surprise of neither himself nor Q. 

“Q, we need to talk.” He began, muting the telly. 

“James, what-”

“Are you seeing someone?” Bond asked, casting a glance around the room. For some reason, he expected the displays of love and affection that the photographs of Q and Jeremy portrayed at the flat Q had shared with the arse. All that Q had on the walls in his new flat, however, was art, most of which dealt heavily in straight lines and dark colors. 

“No, I’m not.” Q shook his head and reached for the remote. Bond reached out and laid his hand on the top of Q’s wrist. 

Tentatively, Bond inched forward, and pressed himself close to Q. His lips had just begun to trace along Q’s jawline when the Quartermaster cleared his throat, and shifted, staring down at his lap. Bond pulled away immediately. 

“Q-”James wanted to kick himself. Q had moved on, or had lost interest. In Bond’s effort not to lose Q to the greater disaster that was recovering from abuse, he had missed his chance. 

“You have the worst bloody timing.” Q smiled sadly. “I spoke to M this morning, and I’m being transferred.” 

“Bollocks. M would never let you leave.” Bond interrupted, sitting back so that he could see all of Q’s body language. The younger man’s back was straight, eyes cautious but alert, and his palms were open on his knees. 

“I’m not _leaving_ Bond, I’m just taking some time away from London. I can’t go to a single place in the damn city that doesn’t have Jeremy attached somehow.” Q looked away for a second, a blush rising in his cheeks. “Anyway, I’ll be in Manchester with the satelite Q technicians there. I’ll still be the voice in your ear, you’ll just be outfitted by R for missions.”

“You know I don’t care about that.” Bond said, shaking his head. “How long are you gone?” He levelled his gaze at Q, who finally turned to look back at him. 

“I don’t know yet.” Q said. “However long it takes to get my head on straight? Or however long it’s going to take me to update the Manchester team’s firewalls. Frankly I don’t know which will take longer.” 

“I see.” Bond said, glancing at the muted television. He didn’t ask Q whether he himself was one of the things that Q was running from; one of those landmarks in London that were intrinsically connected with Jeremy.

“When are you leaving?” He asked instead. 

“In two days.” Q replied, flinching at the question. “I’ll pack some necessities tomorrow and ship them to the flat I’m subletting, and leave the day after.” 

“I see.” They sat in silence for a long time. Too long. Bond un-muted the television, watching it blindly for a moment, and then stood to leave. Q didn’t stop him. 

Besides some clothes and bits of tech, there wasn’t anything that Q needed to bring to Manchester with him. The next morning he set everything into five tidily-packed boxes and sealed them just as the courier arrived to take them up north.

Q drank a cup of tea and packed a few of his more important bits of paperwork into his backpack along with his laptop. After one last check of the flat, which was paid off for two months’ rent with a forwarding address left with the Landlord for utilities, Q left. He loaded up his motorbike by storing everything beneath the seat and initiated the newly-installed interface for the bike. 

“SystemAdmin ignition On.” Q spoke clearly into the microphone that he had installed into his helmet. 

“Ignition On. Awaiting further instruction.” A cool, female voice reported back to him. The voice was familiar- he had asked R to read from a script for him a few weeks ago. 

It was still a work in progress- habitually, Q would still reach for levers and buttons that he didn’t need to use anymore. Eventually though, those habits would fade, and he would be able to fully integrate his new system. It was comforting, knowing that it would just take some time to learn the new commands. 

“SystemAdmin initiate starter check. Issue full report.” Q said, waiting as the bike went through a round of noises and responses. He checked his gauges while the headlights automatically brightened and dimmed again. 

“Petrol tank needs 3.4 litres to full. Headlights operating at full function. Gauges are operating at full function. Tire pressure is at...”

Q listened to the system read back to him all of the statistics that he couldn’t accurately check on his own. When it completed, he settled more deeply astride the bike and revved the engine before peeling into the street and heading towards Manchester, eyes only looking straight towards his destination.

While Q settled in at the new digs in Manchester, Bond decided that he wouldn’t reach out to Q until he made contact first. It was easy enough for Bond to know that Q was okay- he was the voice in Bond’s ear on the one minor assignment that he had been sent on since the move, and Q was constantly connecting with R over a myriad of Q Division related issues. 

It wasn’t until a month out, with no word from Q, that Bond finally heard from the younger man. It wasn’t a text, like he had expected, but an e-mail- sent from Q’s personal account to Bond’s. 

_James,_

_Explaining why I haven’t been in touch would be tedious, and I suspect that you understand why, so I won’t waste those words here. I hope that you’ll forgive me for my silence. Manchester is lovely, although I miss a lot of things about London. Namely, I miss you. It’s rather lonely here, and I never quite picked up on the rules of football, despite your tireless efforts, so watching the telly isn’t nearly as interesting as it could be._  
As it turns out, you were right when you spoke about actual love and nostalgic love, all those months ago. For the first time, I think I’m able to put the past into one of those definitive categories, instead of mingling them in both. I hope you know how much I owe you for that, in addition to so many other things.   
I’ll be returning to London by the end of the month, no more than a few weeks. I was hoping that you would consider joining me in Manchester for a little while, though. The choice is yours- just let me know when you’re coming, if you are.   
-Q 

Bond stared at the screen of his laptop, and glanced at the timestamp of the e-mail. It hadn’t been sent more than twenty minutes beforehand. He could bet that Q was doing the same as he was- laying up in bed, puttering around on the laptop before going to sleep. He imagined that Q would have a mug of tea in lieu of Bond’s scotch, and Q was likely to be up for hours yet while Bond was ready to sleep.

He hit “reply” and typed out a quick message, knowing that Q would get it immediately. 

_Q- Leaving tomorrow. See you by lunch._

The laptop closed with a snap, and Bond rolled over in bed, a smile lingering on his face as he thought about getting to spend time with his Quartermaster yet again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are always appreciated!


End file.
